


Righting a Wrong

by Morgane (smilla840)



Series: Quantum of Solace: the Villiers edition [1]
Category: Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: I am still not over Villiers' completely inexplicable absence from QoS, It makes no sense at all continuity-wise, M/M, So I'm fixing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something else went from in Siena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Righting a Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene from Quantum of Solace to try and explain why Villiers wasn't in the movie.

_Siena, Italy_

Bond jogged back towards the safehouse, mentally cataloguing the various cuts and bruises on his body. He was sore but all in all it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before. Nothing that would require he stand down either, and really that was all that mattered right now.

Mitchell was dead. Good riddance, as far as he was concerned, but he knew M wouldn’t be pleased with him. Then again, she rarely was so why deprive her of her favourite ranting subject? It used to send her assistants running for cover – Bond allowed himself a slight smirk at the thought, those were fond memories – but that was before Villiers came around. Somehow the man seemed immune to M’s foul moods, always keeping his aplomb no matter what, although Bond strongly suspected he simply tuned her out when she got started and carried on with his work until she ran out of steam. Bond reminded himself to ask the man how he did it – somehow M always caught on when _he_ was the one doing the ignoring.

He got back to the safehouse to find M long gone and nodded to himself. Good – she should already be on her way back to London by now. White was gone too and Bond punched a wall. He had been their only lead! But he forced himself to calm down – he had found him once, he would find him again – and started a systematic search of the house: White had been injured, he might not have gone far.

But it soon turned out that, injured or not, White was nowhere to be found. What Bond _did_ find was more MI6 agents – dead, he determined quickly, and Mitchell really had gotten what he deserved – and a lot of empty rooms.

There was one room, however, that showed signs of recent activity and Bond slowed, peering inside. It had to be the dining room, one made for entertaining judging by the size of the table sitting squarely in the middle of it. A laptop was still running at the head closest to the door, an opened briefcase next to it. An overturned chair laid on the floor next to a trail of blood that went further into the room, disappearing from view on the other side of the table.

Bond frowned and stepped over the threshold, gun drawn but pointing towards the ground. 

Only to duck back into the doorway, cursing out loud, when he got shot at. The bullet hadn’t come close to hitting him, burying itself into the stone wall two feet away from where he had been standing instead – a warning shot, or someone whose aim wasn’t steady enough to reach their target? Judging from the amount of blood on the ground, probably the latter. But Bond wasn’t going to take any chance, not until he knew who, of friend or foe, was in that room.

A pause, as both parties considered their options, and then:

“Bond?”

Shit. He knew that voice.

He stepped back into the room, keeping his gun at the ready all the same, and carefully made his way around the table to confirm his suspicion. Then he was at Villiers’s side in two quick strides, ignoring the gun still aimed at him, shaking badly from the effort it took to keep it up – no wonder that shot had gone so wide. The gun clattered on the floor when Villiers saw it was indeed him, relief chasing some of the pain from the man’s face as he released a shaky breath that turned into a gasp of pain half-way through.

Bond kneeled next to him, taking in the bullet wound – through and through, that was good, in the left lumbar region. Probably hadn’t gotten the spleen, or Villiers would have bled out. Might have nicked a kidney though, or –

“Is M okay?”

Jolted out of his thoughts by Villiers’s question – and why was he _not_ surprised that would be the first thing out of his mouth? – he looked up at the man’s face, tight with pain and made paler than usual by blood loss. Villiers’s eyes were glassy, with none of their usual sharpness – and none of the softness Bond had been privy to in bed.

“She’s fine,” he said curtly, taking off his shirt to apply pressure on the wound. Villiers made a pained noise of protest but Bond only pressed harder, suddenly irrationally angry. How dared Villiers go and get shot? He was an administrative, for God’s sake! He was supposed to stay safe! So why was he here, bleeding to death on the floor of a not-so-safehouse in –

No. He wasn’t going to let Villiers die. M would skin him alive, for one. And second... he just wasn’t.

Grabbing his cellphone he dialled HQ, nudging Villiers when it looked like the man might pass out. Not that it would change anything if he did but it made Bond feel better to know that his sometimes lover was still conscious.

“Send paramedics to the house,” he barked into his phone. “I don’t care who you send, I want them here NOW.”

That done, he focused back on Villiers. He was still bleeding, the make-shift bandage already soaked through, and Bond wanted to break something. The only thing nearby was Villiers though and he was already broken enough, so Bond settled on gripping the man’s shoulder with his free hand.

“How many agents in M’s escort for this trip?” he said and Villiers’s eyes opened, squinting at him tiredly.

“Can’t you let me die in peace?” he asked and the visible effort it took him to say those seven little words scared Bond all over again.

“Hey! You’re not dying, you hear me? M wouldn’t like that – and you wouldn’t want her to have to hire a new secretary now would you?”

“Not – secretary.”

“So you keep telling me. How many men?”

Villiers took a shaky breath. “Eight.”

Bond nodded, mentally making a headcount – all accounted for. All dead too. But at least that meant no more unpleasant surprises for now.

“Good, that’s good. Did you see who shot you?”

Villiers shook his head, his face creasing with pain. He did not even attempt to speak this time, the effort too great. He was fading fast and Bond could remember in vivid details the last time he had felt so helpless. But finally he could hear a siren in the distance, getting rapidly closer, and he gripped Villiers’s shoulder tighter, trying to keep him there by sheer force of will. He. Would. Not. Die. 

But that was when Villiers’s body finally surrendered to the pull of unconsciousness, going lax against his hold. Bond laid him down on the floor carefully and checked his pulse – still there but slow, much too slow. Where were –

And that was when the paramedics came through the door.

\---

Villiers woke up in a hospital bed with a dull ache on his side and a tube down his throat and panicked. He tried to listen to the voice telling him in accented English to calm down, that they were going to take it out and just _breathe_ but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than how _wrong_ it felt. Then it was gone and he was coughing, making the pain in his side flare. He did manage to catch his breath eventually and the pain returned to a more manageable level, allowing him to squint at the doctor and nurses hovering around him.

“Mr. Villiers, do you remember what happened to you?” the doctor asked and Villiers recognized the voice who had tried to calm him down earlier. That in turn sparked vague and hazy memories of waking up in that same bed, the room spinning around him before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

“How long?” he managed to whisper, his sore throat protesting even that.

“It’s been ten days, sir. You had to have two surgeries but you’re stable now. We should be able to transfer you back to the UK in a couple of days.” The doctor shot a somewhat nervous glance towards the doorway and Villiers followed his gaze, catching a glimpse of the two men guarding his room. MI6 agents, if he wasn’t mistaken – he would have to ask M if that was really necessary. In any case it was no wonder the doctor was looking forward to letting him go.

“You should rest for now,” the man continued. “I’ll come back later to explain what happened.”

Right. Villiers closed his eyes and tried to remember. They had gone to Siena to meet up with Bond and his prisoner, White, in hope that they would get some answers. Villiers, who had no stomach for such interrogations, had opted to get some work done instead of attending. He remembered working on his laptop – a spike of worry coursed through him: what had happened to it? And to his briefcase? It contained classified documents, it really wouldn’t do to just leave it lying around somewhere. But surely M had thought of that as well. M! Was she alright? Villiers frowned – somehow, he knew she was. How could he know that?

Bond.

Bond had been there, he remembered that much. Yes, he had been shot from behind and had fallen to the ground. Whoever it was who had shot him hadn’t lingered to make sure he had done the job and Villiers had crawled forward to get some cover in case he came back. He didn’t know how long he had stayed there, watching the blood pool around him get bigger and bigger. He hadn’t even thought to call for help at first, and when he had he had remembered his phone was still on the table – which now seemed a mile away. So he had waited for someone, anyone, all the while clutching his gun. 

And Bond had come.

He didn’t remember everything but he had the distinct feeling that Bond had been worried. How strange. He hadn’t thought the man cared. True, they did sleep together occasionally but experience had shown that Bond did not associate sex with affection – or, God forbid, love. With one blaring exception, of course, because it was Bond and Bond never did things the easy way. And Lynd... well, Villiers wasn’t going to think about that now.

Still it was strange to contemplate the possibility that Bond might actually give a damn about him. He didn’t dwell on it too much though, seeing how he was already walking a fine line when it came to the man, purposefully ignoring his own feelings – in fact downright denying he had any – and he really didn’t need the extra incentive to get his hopes up. It would never work between them anyway.

Holding that thought close to his heart, Villiers drifted back to sleep.

 

Three days later he was back on English soil in a military hospital and very bored. Villiers had never taken to inactivity very well and he missed his job. Then one day M showed up, ranting about Bond going rogue again and making her go to South America to deal with his mess. The scene was so familiar Villiers felt his lips twist involuntarily in a half-smile that faded all too soon when M moved on to talk about Mitchell and Greene’s associates who were seemingly everywhere. When she was done blowing off steam she peered at him and gruffly told him she expected him back at his desk the minute the doctors cleared him. 

Somehow that made Villiers feel a lot better.

 

The day he went home Bond called to complain about Tanner. Villiers raised an eyebrow and told him the man was competent or he wouldn’t have been picked for the job. Personally he thought Tanner was a little green, but nothing time wouldn’t cure – not that he told Bond that much, of course. And after he had hung up, he certainly did _not_ wonder if that was Bond’s way of checking up on him.

Except it soon became a recurring occurrence, with Bond calling him at all hours of the day to grouse over what he perceived to be Tanner’s latest fault.

“When are you coming back?” Bond would whine – yes, whine, although Villiers was sure 007 would kill him for suggesting as much. “Tanner’s an idiot.”

“Tanner is perfectly adequate for the job,” Villiers would answer patiently. “If you keep this up, Bond, I’m going to think you miss me.”

Which was when Bond usually hung up – no big surprise there.

 

The doctors finally cleared him over a month after the shooting and it was with relish that he put on his suits again and went back to work.

M seemed just as relieved to see him, handing him a pile of files and telling him to get up to speed. Villiers did so while keeping an eye out for Bond but he soon found out the man wasn’t there, off on a mission in Korea. Villiers didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed so he concentrated on his work instead, and by the time Bond came back he had already settled back in.

\---

Bond reported back to M one hour after his plane landed, quite pleased with himself. For once everything had gone according to plan and he was looking forward to gloating. Not that M would be impressed – she expected as much for each and every one of his missions, but that would really take all the fun out of it.

He breezed into M’s office without knocking, his attention immediately diverted from the woman herself to the person standing next to her. 

Villiers was back.

The two were focused on the file in front of them – not that Bond thought for one second that they weren’t aware of his presence – and he allowed himself a thorough once-over of the man. He looked good. Healthy. Also tired and, Bond noted when Villiers shifted to gather the file, still in some amount of pain from the gunshot wound. But well enough to erase some of the worry still dancing around his mind and replace his last mental image of the man, bleeding to death on the floor of some Italian mansion. That image along with Vesper’s death had haunted him, making him reconsider a lot of things he would usually just ignore – and then do it all over again after Camille.

Villiers chose that moment to straighten and meet his eyes and Bond forced himself back to the present. He nodded, his neutral “Villiers” a far cry from his repeated phone calls asking for the man’s return – which, by the way, had been a perfectly legitimate demand. Tanner had been completely incompetent. And not as fun to rib as Villiers. 

And far less pretty.

Villiers nodded back before leaving the room and Bond finally shifted his gaze to meet M’s eyes, finding her looking at him shrewdly. He raised an eyebrow innocently – or as innocently as he could manage – and she snorted inelegantly, shooting him a warning glare before waving at him to begin.

Right. Back to business then.

 

One hour later he was out of the room and sprawled on one of the chairs in Villiers’s office – _his_ chair –, watching the man ignore him. The sheer normality of the act – at least for them – helped relax him further. Villiers was fine and he would continue to be fine. No more getting shot for him – once had been enough and Bond wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone doing it again. 

Eventually Villiers got fed up with his staring and looked up with a scowl.

“Did you need something, Bond?”

Bond pondered on the question thoughtfully, and:

“A coffee would be nice.”

Villiers’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m not here to bring you coffee and I have work to do. So if you wouldn’t mind…” He looked pointedly at the door and back at Bond who just smirked and ensconced himself deeper into his seat.

Sadly M chose that moment to storm out of her office, coat and gloves in hand. She stopped short when she caught sight of the two of them, taking in Villiers’s exasperated expression and Bond’s smug one, and rolled her eyes.

“Stop harassing my staff, Bond. Villiers certainly doesn’t need the aggravation and you have a report to write.”

Bond got up with a sigh and let himself be shepherded out of the door. Looking back he caught a glimpse of Villiers’s slightly flushed face and grinned. Everything was back to normal.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want it to be.

\---

After their short encounter Villiers half-expected to find Bond at his flat looking to resume their complicated relationship – verbal sparring was their usual foreplay. But there was Lynd to consider now and so he wasn’t really surprised when the man didn’t show up, even though he would admit to a twinge of disappointment.

Bond had looked better, he reflected thinking back on their short meeting. The glimpse he had had of the man after Lynd had died had been frightening, his eyes cold and angry and his posture aggressive. Today he had looked more like his old self, as though he had made his peace with what had happened. With still just a hint of tightness around the eyes that had slowly faded during his stint in Villiers’s office – nothing you would notice if you weren’t looking behind that nonchalant facade of his but Villiers had spent a lot of time doing just that and knew what to look for.

Not that it helped any when it came to the two of them. More often than not Villiers found himself second-guessing his and Bond’s every move, trying to decipher hidden meanings until he forced himself to stop and think of something else.

As far as he was concerned, being in love sucked. Being in love with Bond... well that was a hundred times worse.

 

It was another month before he saw more than a glimpse of Bond as he waltzed through his office between missions, which he did back to back until he finally screwed one up, something that always happened eventually with 00s but even more so with Bond, to M’s never-ending ire. He was grounded – not that it usually stopped him – and Villiers fully expected to find MI6 abuzz with the news that Bond had gone off on some half-cocked mission of his the next day.

But it wasn’t. Instead, he found the man in his office, lounging in what he had come to think of as Bond’s chair.

“Bond. Have you forgotten where your office was again?” he asked, hanging up his coat. That done, he turned around to face the other man and almost jumped out of his skin when he found him standing less than two inches away. He stumbled back, having momentarily forgotten that there was a wall behind him, and impacted with it rather hard.

Bond chuckled at his cursing and Villiers glared at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his eyes darting around nervously while he tried hard to ignore the way his pulse had gone up at Bond’s proximity. They were at work and M could show up any minute and Bond just couldn’t –

“Are you free for dinner?” Bond asked, interrupting his internal panic attack and catching him completely off guard.

Villiers could only gape at him for a couple of seconds, trying to process the words. Had Bond…

“Are you asking me out on a date?” he blurted out before he could stop himself and he watched with fascination as Bond nodded with a carefully plastered smirk on his face.

Bond didn’t do dates. At least not with him. It just wasn’t something they had ever done – to be quite honest so far their relationship had been mostly based on sex. Which wasn’t to say that Villiers didn’t want more, because he did, but he had never thought Bond would… Okay, that wasn’t true either – of course he had imagined it but he could have a rather vivid imagination at times and –

Right. Bond was still waiting for an answer.

“I’m free tonight,” he said and Bond smiled, finally stepping back – much to Villiers’s relief because he really didn’t fancy explaining this to M.

“Pick you up at seven?” Bond said on his way out of the door.

“Okay,” he answered, still a little dumbstruck.

He had a date. With Bond.

Suddenly Villiers found himself grinning uncontrollably.

 

And when M asked him for an update on 004’s current mission two hours later, he was still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.


End file.
